The Legend of a Dovahkiin
by TheWailingBanshee
Summary: Alduin has returned and a new Dovahkiin has been born but fate is not always a simple path. This new Dragonborn is in the form of a Dunmer; angry, resentful and unforgiving; her path will certainly not be an easy one. This is my first fanfic and any rates and reviews will be thoroughly appreciated, rated M for violence throughout. Enjoy, TWB.


The heavy hooves trudged along the broken cobbled path, the dirt and grass seeping through the cracks, trying to reclaim what was once theirs. The carriage trembled over the silent on-going war, weary of its already long journey. Snow covered trees ambled past one by one, revealing white blanketed fields and hills, steep mountain sides and thickets of trees. The falling snow was easing; Vivaryn noticed the difference on her bare, scarred arms.

The cloud covered sky seemed endless as it covered the horizon, promising more snow was to come.

A rush of movement swept into her vision and Vivaryn turned to see a large, brown elk gracefully bound through the trees, leaving only its footprints in the snow. She stared at the empty prints as the carriage rumbled onwards.

_Vivaryn sprinted through the woodland; the thinning grass skimmed her ankles as she flew past with ease. The footprints were easy to follow on the dirt path that she was now running along. With the flinging of the mud left behind, she knew her prey was desperate. It was injured. And it would only be a matter of time before she would catch up with it._

_She had missed its body but had caught its hind leg with one of the stolen elven arrows, a mistake she would not let herself forget lightly. The miss, not the steal._

_She was closing as she heard hooves pound on the forest floor and allowed her eyes to scan the trees ahead. A flash of grey threw a ringing in her head. She headed for a thick berry bush and flung herself next to it, her back propped against a large tree trunk._

_She dared a peek, still crouched, as she tried to control her breathing, hoping she had not seen them too late._

_The hairs on the back of her neck began to stand on end as she felt a shift of space behind her. She spun round as a set of sharp teeth sunk into her arm. She gave a low shout of pain as the greying wolf pinned her to the mud-covered ground and began shaking its head vigorously, trying to break off whatever it could._

_The pain was unbearable as it shot through Vivaryn's arm as she watched the blood soak her tunic. Anger raged through her as her whole body began to shake. Its pack may have taken her kill but she was determined this one would not take her life. She clenched her jaws forcing herself to focus as she wrapped her legs around the beasts' stomach, stopping it from dragging her around the forest floor as she seized her iron dagger from her belt with a shaky hand._

_A growl erupted from the wolf as she pulled him closer with the arm lodged in his powerful jaws and plunged the knife into its neck without a moment's hesitation._

"Ah, you're awake." A deep voice dragged her from the past and into reality. The scars on her arms, remembering their beginnings, started to throb under the cold. She turned to see the tall, fair Nord focus his attention on the horse thief that was coming to. He had tried to exchange words with Vivaryn when he had first woke, but soon decided it was better to admire the view when it had failed. She was not one to waste time on words. It seemed he had a new victim now as the Imperial found his bearings.

"Where am I?" The dim-witted Imperial asked. His short, greasy, brown hair and grubby face made it obvious he was not that of royalty or business, which was quite rare in the province of Skyrim. The Nords' usually didn't take to immigrants unless there was purpose, a heartless tradition but not an uncommon one. She had watched this man attempt to ride a horse out of the Ivarstead stables without buying it but barely made it out the wooden gates before the soldiers were upon him. She was already in binds at the time.

"I don't know where they're taking us." The Nord replied, his pale, blue eyes glazing over as he stared at the passing scenery. His shoulder-length blonde hair waving in the wind. They passed pleasantries as Vivaryn gazed at the path ahead. She had no idea where they were going either, a fact that frustrated her to no ends. She knew they had passed Ivarstead a few hours ago and were heading west but that was all. She had no knowledge of towns or villages that lay waiting for them.

"What did this fool do?" The ragged Imperial asked nodding towards the bound and gagged man sitting to Vivaryn's right. She had observed him as soon as she arrived on the carriage.

"Watch your tongue Imperial!" The Nord snapped. "That there is Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm and the true king of Skyrim."

Ulfric Stormcloak continued to stare at the wooden floor, an angered frown pulled across his half-covered face. Vivaryn had thought him royalty due to his cloaks and gold but the name meant nothing to her. The other Nord seemed to respect him at no ends and his blue and brown uniform informed her that he was a soldier but not of the Imperial Legion that governed this land.

"The leader of the Stormcloaks'? Oh god, that means we're going to be executed, doesn't it? Oh god, I don't belong here. All I did was try to steal a horse, that was all; I don't deserve to die!"

Vivaryn glared at the quivering man before turning her attention onto the upcoming town. Imperials, they always turned out to be cowards.

"Helgen…" The Nord whispered. The tall, stone defences protruded out of the dirt, towering over the carriage as they passed. The guards scowled at them through their leather helmets, almost as if to intimidate them. Vivaryn almost smirked at the thought. Almost.

"Look," The Nord spat. "There's General Tulius the cowardice and the Thalmor wench. I should've known elves were involved somehow."

Vivaryn ignored the ill-thought insult as she glared at the 'Thalmor wench'. She was definitely a high elf as she sat proudly on her tired horse. Her startling orange eyes schemed behind her yellowing complexion. Her long, blonde, styled hair was trailing down her fine, blue robes suggesting she was most likely royalty. Her Thalmor guards standing by her side, their golden armour glinting in the little light Skyrim offered.

The carriage rolled through Helgen, a town of stone and straw. The grey houses lacked class and visionary as they slumped in their mud gardens, plain and dreary. Each building resembled the last, as there was no clear difference between them apart from their sizes. Some were small; square huts whereas others were larger with an extra storey sagging on top. There were a few corroded wooden signs swinging with a creak in the icy wind, indicating its aging attachment was a shop or tavern, non-sparked any style or enthusiasm. This was clearly a town not to be stared with awe at. Clearly a true town of Skyrim. Vivaryn stared at the Nord with distaste, a habit not entirely her own.

"But father, I want to watch the soldiers!" A whining voice drifted down to the carriage. Vivaryn turned to see a young Nordic boy perched on a porch of a plain, wooden hut. His simple linen clothes drooped around the small boys frame as his dark brown hair ruffled in the breeze. His innocent gaze enveloped the small, wooden carriage of four eagerly.

"No, my son, you go inside the house now, hurry." His burly father boomed as the boy reluctantly did as he was told. The father's gaze landed on Vivaryn but she did not back down. His head lifted slightly higher as his blue eyes narrowed. The carriage came to a rough stop but Vivaryn waited until the man turned to go inside before she dropped her glare. A stubborn habit she had yet to grow out of.

The carriage had rolled to a halt beside another, quite similar to their own. Again, four people occupied the wooden wagon, each one wearing the same blue and brown armour that the 'Stormcloak' Nord in her carriage was wearing. This could only mean a bad omen for what was to come. Their expressions were a veil of anger as their watery eyes stared at the courtyard ahead.

Vivaryn followed their gaze. Imperial soldiers lined the yard, circling around a blood-stained wooden block. A tall, broad-shouldered man cloaked in black stood next to it, a mask concealing his face. The daunting, heavy axe glinting wickedly in his gloved hands. Vivaryn's breath caught.

The horse thief began to quiver again, tears springing into his eyes. Vivaryn grimaced instinctively, not believing she was sat with a coward in her last moments. She had contemplated the thought of her execution on the ride to Helgen but now it was here, her heart raced with an uncertainty. It was not fear. For the many times she had stood in the face of death, the thought of it no longer kept her from sleep. It was the fact that did not **want** to die. Fear and desire were two separate thoughts and although she could boast that she was no longer afraid of the cold hand of death, she didn't exactly want her life to end. She had no loving family to return to, or a beautiful home for that matter. She had no important role to carry out or vital mission that would change the fate of all of Tamriel. In fact, this penniless and friendless Dunmer had no logical reason behind her desire to live at all but her own petty wishes.

She did not long to decease this early on in her prolonged 'mer' life and certainly not in Skyrim; the bleak, depressing land of the Nords. And this was all she required to decide she needed a plan. A plan to change her fate.

Vivaryn took a calming breath, her face remaining still throughout her mind's troublesome wrath.

She had to focus if she wanted to escape.

She took a sly, subtle sweep of the town. Imperial soldiers were crawling all over the place. Archers on the left bank and heavy infantry to the right. Running would be futile. So her mind crossed another thought, she might need to fight, although the odds were forever stacked not in her favour. She then searched for weapons, anything that would aid in her last pointless battle. A few hay forks and wheel barrel was all that was littering the town. She gave a quiet sigh; fate was never on her side.

"Alright, out of the carriages scum!" An Imperial woman shouted; her large, decorative, metal helmet suggested she was a Captain. Standing next to her was a burly Imperial, his helmet under his muscular arm and a scroll in his hands. Roll-call, this was going to be fun.

The prisoners stood and emptied the wooden carriages one by one, taking their place in front of the Imperial guards, forming a line of disheartened rebels and criminals. A few crows cawed, their calls echoing throughout the town, as they perched on the nearby huts almost as if to be present for the elf's impending doom.

Vivaryn looked up at the white blanket of clouds; an overwhelming sense of sentiment washed through her. This would be the last time she would cast her eyes onto it. A stab of annoyance shot through her mind that it had to be the dull, greying skies of Skyrim.

Should she be feeling sadness? Regret? Relief? She searched for any consuming emotions that were rocking inside of her but felt nothing but the cold stings on her ash skin, the wind whipping through her ebony hair and hard cobbles on her tiresome feet. The sentiment was now gone.

"ARCHERS!" A female shout made her turn her head and she watched as the horse thief sprint for the gates in vain. The line of archers grabbed an arrow and slung it back in their long bows. Taking aim, they fired; three in the back, one in the shoulder and one in the leg. A few of their accuracies were off, but then again, they were Imperial soldiers, renowned for their slovenly workmanship.

"Ralof Ninski of Windhelm!" The brawny Imperial called and the Nord from Vivaryn's carriage walked towards the ring that was now forming around the block, the deep red curve almost beckoning for Vivaryn's head. She turned away and realised she was the last one left, standing alone in front of the guards.

The brown-haired Imperial frowned at his scroll, his ill-shaped nose crinkling slightly.

"Erm, Captain?" He whispered to his fellow comrade. "There's no other name's on this role call. The Dark Elf shouldn't be here." He turned back to the Vivaryn, his brown eyes offering unwanted sympathy. "What is your name elf?"

"Vivaryn." She replied, her voice low and husky.

"Another refugee…The Gods have really abandoned you dark elves."

Vivaryn's eyes narrowed at him. The gods had abandoned us many centuries ago fool; she thought but kept her lips pulled into a thin line. She had learnt at a young age that opinions are not often sought after, especially from Dunmers.

"Doesn't matter, she goes to the block as well!" The Captain roared as she marched to the circle.

"I'm sorry prisoner, but to the block." The man repeated but Vivaryn had already started to follow the Captain, her feet heavy as she walked to her inevitable fate. She took another deep breath as she stopped in line, the heavy silence overbearing. Her head was numb, almost dizzy as she stared at the dried blood that had been spilt so many times before, in front of them.

Shouts were ordered at Ulfric Stormcloak by an Imperial she had seen as she had entered Helgen. His deep red uniform, finely detailed armour and long, flapping cloak indicated his importance. General Tulius, leader of the Imperial Legion who seemed quite arrogant as he stood before the rebels and criminals. Vivaryn could not focus on his speech but a thunderous roar caught her attention as it echoed across the sky. She fought a frown, keeping her features neutral and calm as she quickly gazed up at the grey clouds. None of the guards seemed to have noticed it as General Tulius brought forward a priestess in red robes.

"Please, read them their last prayer." The General huffed as he stepped back into formation. Great, they were going to bore her to death. The woman's voice screeched of the heavens and divines, each word scraping against Vivaryn's head like bad notes played on an instrument far too complex for its owner.

"Oh enough already," A heavily accented voice interrupted as a red-headed rebel walked up to the block. "I'm not waiting to die any longer." The priestess seemed to choke on his lack of respect for her words on the Gods, waiting to die will do that, but the Captain seemed relieved she could get on with her duties. Vivaryn silently thanked the man for his impatience.

"Very well then." The Captain hissed as she kicked him to his knees. The mud ruining his blue and brown uniform. Vivaryn watched the executioner as he grabbed his over-large axe with both hands, reassuring his grip on the engraved handle.

She watched as the man lowered his head, exposing his neck to the lifted axe. Vivaryn wondered what his last thoughts were. Were they of his family, his brothers-in-arms or of Sovngarde, a place that every soldier dreamed of seeing, a place that Vivaryn couldn't think existed. The glinting, giant blade swooped down effortlessly, slicing through the wind with ease, creating a faint high-pitched whistle. Vivaryn heard gags and gasps as the lifeless head rolled across the courtyard and came to an uneven stop, the mans red hair now coated in mud. Vivaryn's eyes narrowed as her heart thumped wildly in her chest, her head was about to do the same.

"You bastards!" Shouted a rebel woman. A scrap broke out which was easily contained by the guards due to their distinct advantage of being unbound and armed.

"Death to the Stormcloaks!" Was their spitted reply.

They were silenced by another deafening roar, louder this time. Closer. Vivaryn sneaked a gaze towards the mountains that lay in the distance, quickly scanning the horizon for any beast capable of such a sound.

The soldiers offered their visionary questions such as; "What was that?" and "Did it come over there?" Neither helped the situation.

"Dark elf," the Captain shouted regardless. "You next."

Her feet moved instinctively towards the blooded block although her mind was racing with thoughts. Impossible escapes, grand fights and even an egotistical remark about the Captains order.

But none of them would help. Again, Vivaryn's fate was not in her hands and she felt a wave of anger crash through her. Why could she not decide what her future would hold? Why was she constantly placed in situations that needed and made the worst out of her?

She knelt; her knee's felt the cold ground as the dampness soaked into her ragged linen clothes. She swallowed as she lowered her head, her eyes coming closer to the blood covered ground. She felt a wave of panic wash through her mind which was quickly suppressed by an unnatural calmness, as if she was not in the wake of death. She turned to face her executioner, her breathing deep and relaxed. This couldn't be happening, could it? His tree-trunk legs bent slightly as he lifted the axe above his head. Vivaryn slowly breathed out, glaring at him, swearing her vengeance in the next life. That was all she was able to do.

A slither of black raced from the tree line to behind the wall of Helgen. Come and gone so fast that Vivaryn nearly dismissed it but shouts and screams grew behind her from the guards and villagers; she couldn't have been the only one to see it.

And suddenly, the huge, black winged beast landed heavily on the keep tower, its great wings folding in as its ferocious claws gripped the turret tightly. The large stone bricks fell from their solid home and landed with a deep, heavy thud on the ground. The executioner turned around, the beast catching him off guard as the large axe slipped out of his grip.

Vivaryn laid completely still as she stared up at this scaled monster, not daring to move as its fiery red eyes found hers, her heart pounding painfully in her chest.

And for a moment, everything seemed silent, still and peaceful. As if there was only the two of them in the courtyard. No more soldiers, no more rebels, no more Helgen.

For a moment, nothing else mattered.


End file.
